


Love Wins

by Epic_Bard



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Asexual Pidge | Katie Holt, Multi, Pidge | Katie Holt Whump, Pidge | Katie Holt is Savage, Satire, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 20:27:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18858502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Epic_Bard/pseuds/Epic_Bard
Summary: Two great forces collide as Voltron clashes with the armies of Zarkon in an epic battle of good versus evil. But there is another great force in the universe: Shklunk. This story flows from prose to poetry as it tells the beautiful tale of four men’s romance from the perspective of the unlovable antihero, Pidge, who is a bigot who thinks that love is disgusting and gross. In the end, love wins.This story will be the first in a collection of three that explore the common themes of good and evil, love and hate, life and death, insanity and reality, comedy and tragedy. The second installment of the series will be a Voltron/Blob crossover fic that explores the blob’s unrequited love for Keith, and the third will ship Allura with the version of Voltron which contains her.Support my work through Patreon at:Epic Bard





	1. Pidge's Struggle (part 1)

Pidge restlessly roamed the halls of the ship. After so many hours of study, her books no longer provided sufficient distraction. This night had again found her furiously pacing the corridors in attempt to ward off her darker thoughts. ‘The modulation number of a hermitian vectorform is implied by its hamiltonian...’ she thought to herself, reviewing the contents of her textbooks in her head. ‘Except in the case of... umm... umm...’

“You suck,” she muttered. Pidge shook her head. The bad thoughts were coming back. This was exactly what she has been trying to avoid. What she wouldn’t do for a little company, for just the slightest relief from her loneliness, if even only for the duration of a meal or a cup of tea. But alas, the halls were vacant. Allura, as always, was in her chamber pleasuring herself. And the others... she grimaced... the others... “Don’t think about it,” she whispered under her breath. A chorus of moans in the distance alerted her that she had strayed too far and it was time to turn back. Pidge returned to her room not having found the distraction she sought. With no other recourse, she decided to give the books another try.

The one advantage of her loneliness was that it had made her a scholar. While the rest of the crew spent endless hours engaged in carnal acts, she had used that time to study. Pidge grabbed a book at random and cracked it open. Her eyes scanned the page, but her brain failed to register the words. Fifteen minutes in she realised that she still didn’t know what subject she was studying. ‘You’re useless,’ said the voice in her head. ‘Nobody loves you.’ Pidge tried her best to hold back tears, but despite her efforts they flowed freely. ‘You can’t do anything right. You’re alone. You’re unlovable.’

“It’s not true!” Pidge sobbed. “It’s not true!” Despite what her inner voice told her, she knew she wasn’t unlovable. Her family had loved her, her two parents and her brother, Matt. Matt had told her as much with his last words as he died in her arms, a victim of the same galra massacre that had killed her parents. Now she sat helpless, lost in rumination, as the scenes played over and over in her head. All that death... her friends... her family... for what purpose?

She had wanted to give up when she lost her family, to lie down and cry. To find a high place and jump off it, or to pick a fight with an armed galra that she knew she couldn’t win. But somehow her tears had given way to anger as a second wind swept through her and drove her on a mission for vengeance. She had found a new purpose in life as a paladin of Voltron, a leader in the battle against the Galra Empire. She fantasizes about putting a sword through Zarkon himself, as if this act of violence might bring her peace.

“There’s work to do,” Pidge muttered. “Can’t just sit here all day.” Pidge pulled herself from her thoughts and returned to her studies. There was work to be done. Realistically, an empire that spanned the better part of the universe could never be defeated by a single weapon-- even a weapon as powerful as Voltron. Though no army could challenge them in battle, the empire built new ships faster than the lions could tear them apart. A computer virus, however, might leave the galra vulnerable. With the right code, Pidge could do more damage than Voltron ever could.

She was so close to a solution that she could almost feel it. Now that her emotions were in check and the words made sense again, she was making progress. Pidge slid her finger down the page, tracing out the words line by line-- and the lights went out. Pidge let out a cry of frustration. She knew what had happened... Allura had again been too busy pleasuring herself to charge the ship. Pidge wanted to walk down there and give Allura a piece of her mind, but the doors were closed and would not open again until the power was restored. If history were to repeat itself, there would be no power until at least tomorrow morning.

“Damn it, Allura!” Pidge shouted. She flailed uselessly against the door of her room to vent her anger. She kicked the steel door frame, twisting her ankle. Pidge limped to her bed and began to cry, not from pain, but from frustration. ‘What’s the point,’ she thought. ‘You weren't going to solve it, anyway. You can’t do anything right.’ Tears streamed down her face. ‘You can’t bring them back. You can’t save them. You’re useless. You’re alone. You’re unlovable.’

Trapped in her room and surrounded by darkness, Pidge knew she had no option but to try for sleep. She gathered herself up in her blankets and lay down in her bed. _‘You’re useless. You’re alone. You’re unlovable.’_


	2. Pidge's Struggle (part 2)

Pidge awoke the next morning feeling refreshed. Something about a good cry sometimes had that effect. She limped off to the kitchen to prepare breakfast for herself. She was determined that this day would be better than the last, so as she made her way to the kitchen she devised a plan to have some company.

Pidge knew better than to dine with Allura, who would pleasure herself loudly and openly throughout meals with all manner of tools. Even this lewd behavior she might tolerate, so desperate she was for human interaction, if not for the eye contact... _the eye contact _\-- Pidge shuddered. If she were to have company today, it would have to be from the other paladins.__

____

____

It hadn’t always been this way. In the beginning the paladins had done everything together: they had trained together, battled together, laughed and cried together, and shared all victories and defeats. Now the other paladins only left their room to pilot their lions when an urgent mission demanded their attention, and lately the group hadn’t even been able to form Voltron.

It had started with subtle glances. Keith and Lance would make eyes at each other. Neither said a word, but everyone knew. Silently, a romance bloomed and soon they were together. But old flames die hard, and Keith's heart still longed for another. “You’re my brother. I love you,” Keith had said to Shiro. But even as he said it, a sexual tension had filled the air. Their eyes had locked in a lusty embrace and it was clear to all that like two young Spartans, the pair shared a bond stronger than brotherhood. Lance had confronted Shiro, but no ill feelings were exchanged between to two. Instead, they had agreed to share Keith. They had decided that they could all line up in an order amenable to them, forming what they called a “Keith love sandwich.” The trio of lovers henceforth spent all time together, and Hunk didn’t want to be left out...

With her friends absent, her only comfort was found in books. While their cold binding was no substitute for the warmth of proper companionship, their text occupied her hours and their enigmas busied her mind so as to make life tolerable aboard the ship. Without them, she didn’t know how she would make it to the next day. Pidge valued each book for its own merit, and for each she had a special love. But for one in particular, an heirloom, she held a unique affection. Simply called “Algorithms,” it had been a gift from her brother as she left for the garrison. Though the leather-bound book was an ancient antique, Matt had seen fit to leave his notes in the margin; his markings not desecration, but exquisite clarity and insight. While she pored over the text she felt close to him, as if he were again by her side. His ethereal presence brought contentment and pride that she should be guided by such a scholar.

Pidge arrived at the kitchen and began to prepare her meal. She had always been more of a programmer than a chemist; Hunk was the cook of the group. It would be cold cereal for her again today. Pidge fondly recalled the early days when Hunk would cook huge meals for all of them to enjoy. Of all the other paladins, it was his company that she missed the most. His friendliness and brotherly demeanor had left her feeling almost like she had a family again. Pidge planned to knock on the other paladins’ door near lunchtime and ask to join them. With any luck they would all have lunch together and it would be just like old times.


	3. First Appearance of Shklunk

Pidge approached the door to the paladins’ room. She heard no moaning, which was a good sign. Tentatively, she raised her hand and knocked. No one answered the door. She knocked again.

“Hey guys, it’s Pidge. I was hoping we could have lunch together--”

The door slid open to reveal Coran, completely nude and fully erect, holding a plate of sausage in one hand.

“Why don’t you come in and join us?” Coran leered.

Pidge recoiled in disgust. The other four paladins were joined in a circle such that each bore a sausage in his mouth, and another from a more unusual orifice... They appeared to be eating lunch.

“No!” yelled Pidge, covering her eyes and recoiling in horror. “No! No! No! No! No!”

“I’m not surprised,” said Coran. “She always did hold quite the prejudice against us.”

Coran made his way back to the closet and closed the blinds, peering through a gap in them in such a way as that only his bright blue eyes were visible.

“I just wanted to have lunch!” Pidge screamed. “And not some perverted ‘let's all eat sausage out of each others’ asses’ lunch! Just a normal lunch! Is that too much to ask?”

“We wouldn’t expect you to understand,” said Shiro, rising to his feet, “But when people are in love they do things for each other. Things they wouldn’t do for other people. Keith, Lance, Hunk, and I are in love, which is why we chose to eat in private.”

“And Coran?” asked Pidge.

“Without Coran,” said Hunk, “Our love could not complete.”

“I think you mean, 'our love could not be complete',” Pidge corrected, hopefully.

“No,” said Hunk, “What we mean is--”

“No need to give out all the details,” interjected Keith. “Some of us value our privacy.”

“I hear that she can’t love!” jeered Lance. “I hear that she thinks love is disgusting and wants nothing to do with it.”

“No!” said Pidge. “That’s not true!”

“How do we know?” asked Shiro. “Have you made love recently?”

“But I-- But Allura doesn’t--” Pidge stammered.

“Allura loves herself!” Lance interjected. “And you can walk into her chambers at any time of day and see her do it proudly!”

“That’s not love you filthy pervert! She’s masturbating!”

“ENOUGH!” yelled Shiro. “What we have is beautiful, and I won’t hear otherwise. Voltron fights for the side of love. If you don’t fight for the side of love, you fight for the side of hate.”

Shiro paused, fiddling with Lance’s sausages distractedly.

"We have located the fleet of Zarkon,” said Shiro. “The coward can hide from us no longer.”

As the words sank in, Pidge could almost feel a tangible silence.

“Tomorrow we go into battle against the forces of evil. If we are to form Voltron, we will need all five paladins on the side of love. Remember this... Hate burns hot, but in the end, love wins.”

With that, the door slid shut, leaving Pidge no option to protest. Shocked and defeated, she began the long limp back to her room.


	4. Evil's Stand

Pidge awoke early, having slept barely a wink. She knew she should feel angry that she had not been told of the attack until yesterday, but all she could feel now was exhilaration as she prepared for battle. Fuck the other paladins-- who needs them. Friendship, family, love: these things were luxuries. They could only distract her from the real goal-- kill as many galra as possible. Now was not the time for an elegant solution like a fancy computer virus. Now was the time for revenge; bloodlust; violence. From these she would have satisfaction.

The blood of all galra she desired to spill, but one more so than the others. Zarkon himself would be present today, and Pidge swore that he would regret his very existence. Though she envied Keith in that his lion held the sword of Voltron, she doubted it would matter. Her lion would tear Zarkon’s ship apart. To snap his neck or draw it out? Her mind teamed with violent fantasies. If at least one were not realised, this day would be the utmost disappointment.

Pidge said no prayers as she donned her armor. No superstition drove her to ritual; her fate was her own and would be decided by no other. Her sparse possessions lay strewn across the floor, uncared for. Without joy, without sentiment, her life bore but one purpose: to rain fire upon those who stole everything from her: to make them writhe in pain.

The mess hall was empty as she fortified herself, a lone paladin in an echoey chamber. Today she desired no company; she drew strength from her solitude. Her aloneness gave her freedom that she should not fear death, for she was beholden to no one and her life was her own. In silence she sat as the hours passed by in tense anticipation of the coming battle.

At last the time approached that she should board her vessel. The other paladins waited on the hanger deck, already prepared to pilot their lions.

“So you bothered to show,” Lance taunted. “Did you remember to bring love?”

“Fuck off,” Pidge replied. “I see that you remembered clothes this time.”

Lance recoiled in embarrassment.

“That was once! Just one time! Can’t we all move on?”

Pidge boarded her lion. As she formed a psychic bond with the sentient metal, she knew that its bloodlust matched her own. What wrongs it must have faced to have accumulated such wrath, she could never know, but as her mind melded with the beast, she truly understood why it had chosen her. Without waiting for cue, Pidge launched her lion from the hanger deck and lead the way into battle.

The galra fleet awaited: A vulnerable battle cruiser made easy prey. The green lion ripped through the engine before it could even activate its defenses. In a shower of blood and shrapnel, the fortress transformed into a fiery tomb. This violent salutation drew a fleet of fighters to the slaughter. The lions tore through them like cats through vermin, tossing the carcasses aside to rot in the frenzy of the kill. The galra fell like flies-- their sacrifices useless-- but for each that fell, two replaced him. The savages displayed as little regard for their own lives as for the lives of their enemies.

“First the appetizer, and then the main course. Don’t target Zarkon’s ship until we’ve removed its defenses,” Shiro commanded.

The green lion made a mockery of the galra army, their lasers not more than pretty lights to be tinkered with. Pidge wove in and out of the fleet's defenses, plucking foes from the from the void with a savage delight. With her agility, none but Keith could compete.

“Mayday! We have a problem!” called Hunk, in a panic. His lion spun out of control. Hunk had been caught sidelong by a laser, and now two fighters swooped in for the kill. Like lighting, Pidge dispatched the fighters while Hunk recovered his wits.

“I got your back,” said Pidge.

“Thanks,” replied Hunk. “I owe you one.”

Though Pidge’s body tired, her bloodlust did not fade. Her lion fought with equal strength the last hour as the first. She felt no sympathy for the fallen villains: each death brought her joy. She wished only for the extinction of this barbaric race so that its plague upon the universe might be extinguished.

Ship by ship, battlecruiser by battlecruiser, the lions whittled away at the galra fleet. A saner enemy would have retreated in the face of such might, but the galra battled on. At last the fleet was crippled so that Zarkon’s ship was vulnerable. Pidge remembered her vow that Zarcon should suffer and prepared to penetrate his ship that she should pluck him from the wreckage. But even as she approached, an obstacle blocked her path: a behemoth of a man clad in mechanical armor. Zarkon himself, it seemed, had joined the battle in a desperate attempt to delay his inevitable doom.

“You just made this easy,” Pidge muttered. At full speed, she directed her lion to attack the mechanical man. Not until afterwards did she realize her error: To underestimate this foe had nearly cost her her life. Zarkon batted the lion away like a nuisance, sending it careening through old wreckage. Unflinching, Zarcon stood his ground.

“What just happened?” asked Shiro. “Are you alright?”

“It’s Zarkon,” replied Pidge. “He’s wearing some sort of weapon. We’ll have to take him as a team.”

The lions assembled in fighting formation. The pack assessed its prey. A soldier stood vulnerable, naked and lonely, his back bare and his flanks unguarded. No signal was given; in silence they struck, their movements guided by primal communion. With elegance beyond the crudeness language, the lions corralled their prey that one should catch his neck and break it.

This fearsome foe refused to know his place. The prey did not flee, but like a trapped beast, he fought as the aggressor. Like lightning, he moved, this apparition-- first a mile away and now within arm’s length. Like vapor he slipped from their claws. His speed was incredible, his strength unmatched. In rageful frenzy this foe fought, his stand the stuff of legends. As the green lion nipped at his neck, Pidge saw a glint of hate in his eye, a burning ire without scope or form that he unleashed in awful fury. His neck slipped from reach with frustrating evasiveness, and with a terrible clang, a swipe of his arm again sent her reeling. Shocked and shaken, Pidge paid her grudging respect to this warrior. Outnumbered five-fold, Zarkon stood his ground.

“He’s too strong!” said Shiro. “We need to form Voltron!”

For all his great strength, Zarkon had underestimated them. As Pidge felt her bond with her brothers, she knew their psychic link would hold. Fear crossed Zarkon’s face as he witnessed the construction of his impending doom. Voltron’s sword would catch his back as he fled. The lions assumed a majestic formation, drawn together by a force beyond nature, that their minds should meld in mystical bond.

Three hundred foot tall the gladiator stood, each limb an army, their combined might a thousandfold their sum. His eyes burned with a fierceness that put suns to shame; the stars seemed weak and flickery by comparison. Man, machine, or beast? Their fusion gave rise to an unnatural conscience, a power unmatched by mere products of science. The soldier tred nothingness as a hawk treads air: with agility, with dexterity, a predator of unmatched prowess. Space itself trembled in the presence of the legendary warrior.

Voltron: Vessel of Kings. Slayer of Empires. Defender of the Universe. In his shadow, all beings quaked with fear. No lone foe could face him and live. It was insanity, surely, to oppose such a power; naught but death could result save with mercy. Yet still, in vexing obstinance, Zarkon stood his ground.

What drove him to this madness, that he should stand against such might? What death wish had stripped him of his reason? This lone foe, in determined rage, dared think himself an army? Futility! Arrogance! Suicide! How could just one by himself hope to live while legions had died by that sword? As his fleet burned in wreckage from the lesser components, in fire and shrapnel and blood, one galra-- One!-- faced Voltron’s wrath like an equal, his role in this battle not understood.

The irony! The stupidity! The insult! How dare this fool suggest that Voltron might give in! Like Scylla, he ate ‘til his mouths were full: When his hunger was sated would the massacre end! Voltron turned to face this wretched foe that he should smite him. No guilty soul escaped this robot’s wrath. He vowed on his left arm to bring death to Zarkon, and all evil thereafter that lay in his path.

Zarkon did not await his opponent’s advance: In guile he struck the first blow. Like a bell, Voltron rang as his metal shot backwards, recoiling from his foe. Absurd! Impossible! That a man should strike a god? What lunacy had brought him down this unreal path he trod? Should not love triumph over hate, and evil lose to good? Should not virtue, in its rightness, hold the ground on which it stood? As Voltron circled Zarkon in a daze of shock and awe, he scanned this foe that he might know him, and universe again have law.

His scartorn face told tales of battle, his eyes full of horror and pain. A tangible rage ran through his body like fire-- a story of tragedy most profane. Unspeakable sadness touched his jawline, a furrow on his brow. His back bent with worldly burden, like a monk of broken vow. With fury, he battled! With frenzy he struck! Like lightning and thunder, his blows! With a clash and a clang Voltron fell to his grapple, the hero in violent embrace he enclosed!

Oh, Zarkon! You beautiful foe!  
What great strength possesseth thy body  
What wretched misfortune lit thine anger aglow?  
A rageful warrior of unknowable power

Oh, Zarkon! Oh, Zarkon! You beautiful beast!  
Wouldst ever thy sword find it’s sheath?  
By the body of Voltron peace shall find thee at last  
May thyne arms have dominion, and thy phallus, the flower

As the warriors made love in the celestial night, and friend was formed from foe, all was at peace in the heavens above, save one girl. Said Pidge: “NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”


	5. The Rise of Shklunkon

The unexpected event had led to calls for parlay, and presently the crew met with Zarkon in the castle of lions. Even Allura had been convinced to leave her chambers to witness this illustrious event. All were fully nude, or “in the clothing of love,” as they called it, except for Pidge, who had refused to comply. Allura displayed herself salaciously on the negotiation table with her legs wide open for all to see. Her piercing eyes probed the others, but currently she refrained from pleasure.

“We meet in peace,” said Shiro. “All of us wear the clothing of love, save one who wears the armor of war. For her we offer our sincerest apologies. Please pay her no heed.”

“I have no heart for hate,” replied Zarkon, “For I have forsaken the side of evil. I have felt the seed of Voltron’s love inside of me, and now I wish only to spread peace and goodness to the universe.”

“Peace?” jeered Pidge, sarcastically. “You must be joking.”

Zarkon ignored her and continued with his speech.

“I knew that your prowess in war was unmatched,” said Zarkon, “But your prowess in love is still greater. I had heard rumors...”

Zarkon trailed off, a misty look in his eyes.

“We’ve had lots of practice,” said Shiro. The four lovers held hands and exchanged longing looks with each other.

“What you have is beautiful beyond words,” said Zarkon, “I cannot even imagine what it must be like to be joined in such a union.”

“Would you like to join us?” asked Shiro. “Our love knows no bounds. We are bonded as lovers and as paladins with but one exception.”

“You can’t be serious!” exclaimed Pidge. “You’d have Zarkon join us after everything he did?”

“Not us,” said Shiro. “There can be only five paladins of Voltron.”

“BUT HE’S ZARKON!” yelled Pidge. “HE TRIED TO ENSLAVE THE ENTIRE FUCKING UNIVERSE!”

“Love holds no grudges,” said Shiro. “And this is why you must go. All five paladins of Voltron must fight for the side of love. We cannot tolerate a paladin who fights for the side of hate.”

“Are we all in agreement?” asked Coran. Four paladins nodded. All eyes fell on Allura.

“Ohhhhh, yes,” moaned Allura, “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

A hand pulsed in her heat-- her breasts ran slick with glistening sweat, and her hips thrust in feverish rhythm. Drops dripped down drenched dark skin as her back arched in breathless spasms of ecstasy. “Mmmm... ohhh... ahhhhh....... UHHHHHHH! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES!”

“Than it’s decided,” said Coran. “Pidge will leave Voltron in favor of Zarkon.”


	6. Love Wins

Having gathered up all her worldly belongings, Pidge began the long walk to her escape pod. With only some books and essential supplies, her bag was light, so that even with her limp it’s weight troubled her little. Her footsteps echoed as she tred the dim hallways; not a soul had thought her worth the time of a well wishing or a parting salutation. As she boarded the pod, the only living creatures in attendance of her departure were four mice engaged in orgy. Far from sentimental, they did not appreciate her presence: The mice squeaked angrily at her as they made their way into a nearby vent.

The pod launched, and Pidge checked the coordinates of its destination. Unable to traverse the vast distance to Earth, it had been programmed to land on the nearest habitable planet. Not that it mattered since she had nothing on Earth to return to. Pidge checked the readout on the display screen. The planet was unpopulated. So bleak were her prospects that she dared not contemplate her future. Pidge slumped down in the pilot’s seat and let her bag fall to the side so that its contents spilled out across the floor.

Pidge sometimes wondered why she bothered with books in an age of computer files. Vanity, some had called it, that she should use such impractical items. It was the comfort of the pages in her hands, the feeling of paper and leather, which satisfied some ethereal need. Her books had been like friends to her, companions who stayed always by her side. In all conditions she could count on them to be full of conversation. And yet they had failed her, for all her years of study had gained her naught. How foolish she had been to love these loveless things, as though they might return her affection. As she sat alone and miserable, she spited that she had ever gleaned her worth from an object so worthless as a book.

Rage welled up inside her for these useless possessions that weighed her down with crude deception. How dare they taunt her with faux friendship, with false hope of victory by devious means! They had been no help to her against the galra. How dare they mock her with enigmas that she should waste away her life! She raged at her gull that she should love these deceivers; her muse not Athena, but Eris, the trickster, bringer of discord and strife.

In a fury she grasp a book by its cover and tore pages from their binding. With all her fragile strength she ripped the book to shreds. Its companions followed in a flurry of paper that enveloped the pod in guts and scraps, their pointless ramblings now turned to dust beneath her feet. The display showed her destination: the desolate planet that was to be her prison. She ran a fist though the screen in a shower of sparks and shards. Her hand bloody, her heart numb, she returned to her seat, no more objects remaining on which to vent her rage.

Failure! Zarkon lives! The king still holds the throne! With naught to show for all her pain she trod this baren path alone. Her brother rot in silence, his spirit unavenged, herself to live in solitude until her mind should come unhinged. On what should fall her anger? To where would flow her rage? What object would replace her books when she had ripped out every page? From vengeance came her closure. Only this could bring her peace. When in her hands lay Zarkon’s head, at last her burning rage would cease.

Zarkon the destroyer! Smiter of worlds! Enslaver of races! The one who pleasured endlessly in his slaughter of the faceless! Zarkon the butcher! Zarkon the cruel! What perverse morality should leave this man to rule? Should not his foe usurp the throne? Should not revenge prevale? In fairness naught should end this war until a stake his head impaled. With pain he brought his empire, and pain does not forget. In fairness naught should not end this war until he paid this debt.

Peace! Oh, wretched peace! You ripped vengeance from my hand! How dare you strip me of my right! My satisfaction I demand! For hate shall rule, war shall live and love shall stand aside! My lustful vengeance I will have and nothing take from me my pride! Morality’s a lier! Righteousness is weak! What fool thinks that he is wise to turn the other cheek? For power giveth fortitude; with strength I take my right! From this day on I seek to rule, and all who protest I will smite!

In rage she screamed a terrible sound, agony in choir, but no one heard her cry of pain, her scream’s unleashed internal fire. A fist ran through the screen again, another and another. Though glass and sparks flew through the air, her burning rage she could not smother. A desperate cry escaped her lips, not from rage, but pain. Shards of glass stuck in her hands, her pooled blood the floor to stain. In agony of body, she slumped down in her chair. As blood flowed from her tattered skin, her burning rage turned to despair.

She viewed the pod in wreckage: a storm of disarray. Around her things defiled, strewn with shrapnel torn from dark display. Her face reflected back at her from in the shattered screen: a touch of madness in her eyes, her wildly strewn hair unclean. A shard of glass lay in her cheek. The cut would leave a scar. Like Zarkon, in her quest for vengeance, many times her skin would mar. This rageful girl viewed herself and saw her foe in mirror. By image in distorted screen, the universe seemed clearer.

Vengeance! For what purpose? For whom would she find rest? Her brother would not want her to go on this foolish quest. Power? At what cost? How many would she harm? How many loving brothers would fall from their sisters’ arms? For Zarkon suffered tragedy: From rage his power rose. How many would still have their lives, if a different path he chose? This man was not the enemy, for love had saved his soul. Before her stood the loveless one who plotted war to take control.

The one who kills! The one who breaks! Who tears her friends to shreds! Not while she had power could the good rest easy in their beds. Around her cluttered chaos, no way to make amends, the pod’s floor strewn with guts and scraps and parts of her old friends. To her knees she fell and wept a stream of selfish tears, for she had taken from herself all things that she held dear. Her true foe knelt before her, hate and madness in her eyes. This wretched thing returned her gaze who she so rightfully despised.

Blood seeped from her knees as she looked down in tearful haze. Before her lay her brother’s gift, it’s beauty lost in broken page. You stupid cunt! You evil bitch! You worthless hypocrite! How dare you ruin your brother’s book! To hold it close you are unfit! Around you lies destruction. Your rage you could not quench. In cowardice you break these things that cannot take revenge.

Oh, woman! You terrible foe!  
What great strength possesseth thy body  
What wretched misfortune lit thine anger aglow?  
A rageful warrior of unknowable power

Oh, woman! Oh, woman! You terrible beast!  
Wouldst ever thy sword find it’s sheath?  
By thine own body peace shall find thee at last  
May thy heart sheath thy sword and it thy hatred devour

In all things there is structure: the complex flows from the primal. Love begets life and life begets love in endless cycle ‘til day final. But sometimes love begets not life, but only beauty. From love flows peace and happiness, if this mistress does her duty. Then from whence flow evil, hate, and things that bringeth pain? From hate flows hate, from evil, evil, in cycle started first by Caine. Love creates and hate destroys. Love combats hate’s mistakes. Love gives freely in compassion, hate in vengeance only takes.

Peace reigns in the universe and love has won the day. Evil turned to good as love converted fallen warrior hate and rage had led astray. Hate turned inwards on itself, that it’s own evil may destroy. Love is left to propagate, that in hate’s absence spreadth joy. Vengeance failed as is right and virtue had its way. The laws of love and goodness now the universe again obey.

It’s right this act should end this farce, to kill this hateful thing, for only peace and happiness this wretched creature’s death will bring. One girl’s noble sacrifice will rid us of her bane, that universe be brighter and in nature there should be less pain. Goodness has prevailed; the villain knows defeat. From war comes peace, from death comes life: at last the cycle is complete.

As Pidge cradled the broken book in her arms, she wet its pages with her blood and tears. For all it had given her, she still gave back naught but desecration. But even in its brokenness, she felt life yet in her torn friend. A calmness washed over her as she recalled a happy memory: her brother’s hand on her shoulder as he passed the book to her as a parting gift, his warm hug as he wished her well in her future adventures. One last time this selfless friend gave all the comfort it had to offer to this useless girl. Finally, her struggle neared its end. Peace at last, peace at last. At long last, peace would find her.

“Goodby, little book. I’m going to miss you.”

Pidge’s breath grew rapid as she held a shard to her vein. With all her rage used up, her tears flowed freely.

‘In the end, love wins,’ thought Pidge. ‘I deserve this. _I deserve to be alone..._ '

The End


End file.
